It was a year and a half ago since he had last visited this place, and there was a ghostly aura around it that he could not explain in words. To anyone else the Glade was just a glade. For Cicero it sent shivers down his spine, shivers that Sheogorath felt too, but for different reasons altogether. A wicked smirk painted his face, his mismatched eyes dancing as the ghostly figure made his way around to find the place where it had happened.

The sun hung low and was getting ready to disappear beyond the horizon as Sheogorath made his way through the glade silently when suddenly he caught an interesting scent. Sheogorath stopped, lifting his head, as he sniffed the air to pinpoint better just what it was that was so interesting about this scent.

The weeks that followed the death of his dearest—and likely only—friend had whirled right on by, lacking the touch of anything worth noting. Alexander had taken his leave from the coastal pack in silence, then began his journey of aimless wandering. His mind buzzed with thoughts that revolved around various different topics, unable to focus on any one thing in particular. Some mornings, before the sun had risen, the boy had stopped and considered seeking out the woods in order to deliver the news, only to be stopped each and every time by his own inability to accept reality. A part of him wanted to continue on living with the belief that the body he’d seen hadn’t actually been Kendra’s, but the other part of him never allowed for the notion to fully settle within his mind. She was dead, she wasn’t coming back this time, and that was something that he’d need to either live with or lay himself down somewhere and wait for death the claim him, too.

Far from the coast, his surroundings grew more familiar with each step he took, yet his conscious mind refused to recognise the similarities. Even after entering the glade, after catching a whiff of someone he could never forget, he remained just the same: dull and nearly lifeless, moving but lacking a destination. And so onward the albino went, continuing unknowingly in the direction of the very wolf whose existence had troubled his own so terribly.

He moved forward, anticipation burning in his chest as he pressed on until he faced what he had been looking for. It was just as he came round a plush of bushes that he saw another wolf and he knew instantly that this was what he had been looking for. Not consciously, perhaps, but once he saw Xan, he knew.

He was reminded of the encounter with the blue-nosed wolf in the glade, the thing that had perhaps started all of this. It was his doing, Sheogorath knew, that had broken Cicero so, that had lead him to think Xan had done things the blue-nosed wolf had.

A crooked grin slid across his face, mismatched eyes twinkling as he continued his way, seeking eye contact with the boy as he approached to see how he would respond to this, likely unwanted, memory resurfacing. Had he given this a place and, if not, would he respond in violence or fear?

Although his attention remained unfocused, the sound of approaching footfalls could not be ignored. Something—call it a sixth sense, or whatever else one might like to—nagged at him, insisting he focus his gaze on that which was approaching. The feeling was one that he, initially, sought to ignore, but was quick to discover that he could not—this, he realised, turned out to be a good thing. For the approaching figure was familiar to him, once being associated with positive memories, only to now be viewed as the epitome of misery and all things nightmarish. His face alone made the albino stop in his tracks, every muscle in his body growing stiff at once whilst his ears fell flat against his head. Weeks prior, perhaps he would have begun trembling right then and there but, given recent occurrences, currently lacked the energy to do so. Alexander could only stand there, as still as a statue, staring onward in silence.

After the passing of several seconds, Kendra’s face flashed through his mind; he had promised to protect her whilst her heart still beat and had failed but, perhaps, he might be able to do something in the name of her memory. To make the world somewhat safer, both for himself and those like his late love. The thought forced his ears upward and his lips to be pulled back, a snarl filling his previously empty expression.

There was an emptiness in Xan's face that brought pleasure to Sheogorath. To see a wolf so broken by his doing (well, with a little help of Cicero, of course) made him feel powerful and alive. There was no fear in his expression, just a numbness that showed he was beyond the typical flight or fight response, as though he had come to the stage of acceptance and this was what it was.

"Have you been able to get it up at all, since," he said with a wicked smile spread across his face even as the snarl spread out across Xan's face; "Or is the reminder of our playdate the only thing that gets you going these days?" He was not afraid of pain, because pain was like a drug he didn't need to pick from the earth but got for absolutely free. Beside the pain Sheogorath felt powerful and arrogant — it wasn't because Xan wanted to attack him that they would fight, that he'd hurt Sheogorath... It was because Sheogorath pushed his buttons, because of what Sheogorath had done, that he did this. Xan was nothing but a pawn to control for him.

He stood his ground, waiting for Xan to take the move most expected, tail proud and lashing over his back and a smile on his face that spread out towards his mismatched eyes, radiating the madness that shone within.

The words—his taunts—went by unheard. Alexander was deaf to his voice, able to hear nothing more than the beating of his own heart as it thudded against his ribs. His snarl was drawn out, a growl rumbling deep within his chest like the cracking of thunder right before a storm. A part of him, still afraid of what could happen, urged the young Inuk to turn tail and flee—but he couldn’t. Rather, he raised his tail up over his back and pushed his ears forward, lacking the means to be civil and returning to how nature had always intended him to be; feral and uncontrollable. And, without much more thought, the albino lurched forward with his jaws agape and forelimbs extended before him, aiming to sink his teeth into anything and everything that he could.

Before he knew it the boy was upon him. Sheogorath turned his shoulder towards Xan and teeth connected to the flesh. The impact sent Sheogorath staggering, but he kept his balance. Meanwhile, he turned his head to try and grab anything he could with his teeth, aiming for Xan's face and the top of his head should he be able to reach any of it. His shoulder was smarting from the pain as flesh was rended, but he also recognised that it was one of the safer places to have Xan go loose while he tried to retalliate so made no further moves to try and get him off.

Though his actions were blindly made, the boy had managed to latch onto some piece of flesh. The second his teeth had sunk into the other male, his grip tightened and he jerked his head in an attempt to tear whatever he could. In his fury, he’d not noticed the retaliation until it was too late to remove himself, leaving him to feel the familiar pain of teeth against his own flesh, slicing right above his eye and leading upwards; the proximity to his eyes was far too close for comfort. Releasing the other from his hold, Alexander’s ears flattened against his crown and he pushed his face downwards, acting with the intention of protecting his optics, leaving the entire top half of his head exposed—much to his dismay.

Whether or not his head might serve as an irresistible target, the boy would still shove himself forward and up, hoping to collide with the other male’s lower jaw. The good memories—the ones that featured Cicero as a teacher, rather than an abuser—were locked away and unable to rise up to the surface, resulting in Xan having nothing to hold him back.

Sheogorath was a beast with little remorse or conscience, unlike Cicero. He did not care who he hurt or killed, although the latter was rarely his intent. He preferred to cause pain rather than to finish their suffering. Where Cicero might have tried to end this as quick as possible, Sheogorath just wanted to enjoy the ride and see what pain and anger he had caused for Xan to be driven so far into this rage.

His attack held its purpose, Xan letting go of him and lowering his head. Sheogorath's grip softened as well and for a moment both of them were free again, with blood soaking their fur and teeth. After only about half a second that felt like half a minute Sheogorath drove forward again and with a snarl he dove for Xan's head, aiming to grab and tear at whatever he could — his eyes and nose were now further out of reach, but his ears were all the closer.

Eventually, he might learn that each battle demanded a clear mind and continuous streams of thought but, until then, he couldn’t help but be fueled by emotions alone. The anger kept him from falling down, exhausted, whilst his pain and grief drove him to attack. It seemed almost as if he simply couldn’t stop, even if he were to suddenly be stricken by the urge to do so. No, he could only continue—and so onward the male went, thoughtless and intent on doing harm.

The warmth of the male’s breath as it neared his crown sent a shiver down Alexander’s spine, insisting that he drive his head forward. Rather than risking the loss of his ears, the Inuk sacrificed his scruff and shoulders as his body was pushed forward and down. Twisting his head around, he made every attempt that was available to him to try and latch onto some section of his opponent’s underside. Meanwhile, exhaustion nagged at him, the days of traveling and stress catching up with him at last.

Teeth grazed past the velvet of Xan's ears and landed on the side of his shoulder, providing a poor grip. Sheogorath felt Xan's teeth latch onto the space just in front of his front legs, on his chest, a little too close to comfort to his throat. Meanwhile he'd grabbed for Xan's scruff again, trying to grab and hold it tight, which would put them in a lockhold with one each other should they both hold on.

With his teeth having found a place to latch on to, there was a brief moment where the boy felt as if he might stand a chance at winning—only for the feeling of teeth on his scruff to send him spiraling downward. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, panic setting in despite his fears being impossible, given their stances. No matter, his jaw grew slack, his grip loosening enough for the other to get away as he forced out a muffled, “Let go.” Paranoia outweighed his anger, bringing him back to his senses—partially—long enough for him to realise where he was and the wolf that he was up against.

It did not make sense to Sheogorath when Xan's grip slackened, not until he spoke. Those words were like sweet, sweet honey to his ears, for it was this that he craved above everything else. Power. As much as he could gather. To win. And he realised only then the position that he had Xan in, the place that his teeth wrapped around Xan's scruff, the possibilities.

He placed his paws on top of Xan's shoulder and, holding his grip on his scruff, tried to push him down with his face in the dirt. Only if Sheo would manage to push Xan down would he release his grip, for now. "Why? Don't you lie awake every day and night thinking about that magical moment with me and wishing that I would return to give you some more?" A wicked grin was on his face, one very different from Cicero's usually facial expression. A wicked madness that showed that the humiliation was not over yet.

The added weight on his shoulders left his legs stiff, reluctant to give in. Though, before long, his face was pressed into the dirt and there was a low growl working its way up through his chest, a mixture of emotions filling him. And as the words reached his ears, the negative feelings grew, multiplying nearly tenfold in the span of several seconds. “No,” he insisted through gritted teeth, denying every thought and fear that he’d experienced in the months following his attack. “I never thought of you—not once.” Lying was, in a way, the one thing that might grant him some semblance of control. Not over the situation, but over something—or so was what he tried to tell himself.

Although making others hurt him was in a way a great high for Sheogorath, there was no denying that this was an equal, if not greater feeling. In a way it was also redemption for what had happened once upon a time in the Fox' Glade, a thing he had definitely anticipated, maybe even wanted, but the other had not had the same thoughts and Cicero definitely did not. Redemption that he was now the one holding the reins again.

To know that he held such power over someone else was an amazing high, to shove someone's face in the dirt and make them feel like they were powerless and worthless. Sheogorath licked his lips at Xan's words and moved his nose closer to Xan's ear to say in a low sultry voice, "A shame. I think of you all the time. The way you quivered and screamed, Alexander..." An audible breath, before his voice turned darker. "It's a shame you had to tell my sister. I thought Cicero made it clear that you shouldn't tell anyone about this." He lingered for a moment, his voice indicating that just maybe he wasn't going to let Xan get away with it. But when his teeth snapped it was only at a hair's length distance from Xan's ear. "So if you find yourself fucked in the ass again at any point, you know it's only yourself to blame." Sheogorath's tongue ran cross the tip of Xan's ear and he let go then, removing his weight in order to remove Xan from the lockhold. He didn't rush to get away — Sheogorath walked away slowly and casually, paying Xan no further mind no matter what he did, as he started to return to Blackfeather Woods.

With so little distance between them that the other’s breath could be felt fanning out over his skin, involuntary trembles ran through the yearling’s body. He tried to fight it, to hold in his fear and swallow down his nerves, only to fail and leave a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Each word left him struggling more and more to maintain some degree of composure, hardly able to keep himself from breaking apart right then and there. And yet, he kept himself held together, however poorly, the childish, egotistical part of him preventing the Inuk from being so terribly affected that one might think Cicero had won. For that would add on to his disgrace, and possibly push him passed some point of return. So, Alexander held on, allowing but small portions of fear to seep through all of the cracks in his armour.

The final threats rang through his ears, echoing in his mind whilst his ears were laid flat against his head. He could not look at him, nor could he utter even a single word in response. All he could do was lay there, waiting for whatever was to come, and then felt a great deal of relief after being freed. That relief, however, was quickly overshadowed by his inner turmoil. Thus, the moment Cicero’s back had turned, out spewed the male’s earlier meal, followed by a long moment of dry heaving. Anxious and terrified, he scrambled back up to his feet immediately after and turned tail, fleeing in the direction of the valley. So many words lingered on the tip of his tongue, so many insults and threats that he wanted to shout, but for now all he could focus on doing was finding somewhere safe to lay low and regroup, for surely their next encounter would not go so smoothly for his attacker.